


gone

by esmeanne



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Past Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeanne/pseuds/esmeanne
Summary: Esme going back to her and Charles' house to collect the things she left behind after learning that Edward killed him.





	gone

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Carlisle murmured.

The two of them were standing in front of her old home that she’d shared with Charles. It was the middle of the night, the entire neighborhood asleep and unaware of the fact that vampires were in their presence.

Esme nodded, leaning back against his chest as she looks up at the house that had been her prison for four years. “I need to do this.”

Carlisle ran his hands up and down her arms. “I understand. Whenever you’re ready, love. No one lives here and we have hours before sunrise.”

Esme nodded again. She took an unnecessary breath before stepping out of her husband’s arms. She walked at a human pace up the small walkway that led to the porch steps. The handrail that she’d painted looked worn, the paint chipping away as she ran her index finger along it while stepping up the stairs.

The old, wooden planks that made up the front porch creaked under her weight in the way they always did. That was how she could tell Charles was home- if she’d heard the sound too early, it sent her into a panic because he hadn’t finished her chores in time.

Esme carefully opened the door, the sound of the old hinges sending a chill down her spine.

“He didn’t change anything.” Esme said, stepping over the threshold and into the small living room. “I decorated it.”

“I can tell.”

Esme ran her finger over the worn fabric of Charles’ old chair that she’d hated so very much. “Is my decorating that obvious?”

“You have a signature style, my love. I could recognize any room of yours.”

She looked back at him, smiling softly. His presence was comforting even in the coldest place she’d ever been.

Carlisle stood in the entryway of the room, giving her the space that she needed until she told him otherwise.

Her attention went back to the room. She walked over to the fireplace, reaching up onto the mantle to pick up an old picture frame that had been turned over and broken. “Charles’ parents.” Esme said softly. “They were always kind to me.”

“Did they know?”

Esme nodded. “They sympathized with me. His mother, Emily- she used to drop by during the day with food. I didn’t know how to cook, not in the way Charles wanted me to, at least. My mother was so frustrated with me that she just quit teaching me. So, Emily gave me food to pass off as my own to Charles and gave me lessons.”

“That was kind of her.” Carlisle commented, happy to know that she’d had at least one person to care for her in some way.

“Yeah, it was.” Esme smiled at the photo. “Charles Sr. was funny. He told all kinds of silly jokes to make me smile when we’d go visit them. I don’t know how their son turned into such a monster.”

Esme held the frame to her chest, the broken pieces of glass falling to the floor as she crossed the room toward the doorway leading to the small kitchen. She just stood frozen for a moment before stepping inside. Carlisle stepped into to the doorway to watch her move about. She crouched down to open one of the lower cabinets.

Esme reached inside and then ran her hand along the inside wall of the cabinet until she found the old paintbrushes she’d hidden. She pulled them out, running her fingers over the worn bristles.

“Paintbrushes?”

Esme nodded, closing the cabinet and standing up. She walked over to her husband and offered the brushes to him. “My teacher gave them to me when I was a girl. My parents wouldn’t buy me art supplies but Miss. Elsie thought I had talent.”

“You do.”

Esme smiled up at him, watching as he took the brushes. He held them carefully- as if they were made of glass.

She watched him for a moment before walking out of the kitchen and toward the small bathroom.

She peered into the room that she’d often locked herself in when hiding from her first husband. The bloodstain on the rug was still there. She hadn’t been able to get it out after he’d given her a bloody nose.

“Is that your blood?” Carlisle asked, his voice quiet.

Esme nodded.

Carlisle’s voice was even quieter, angrier than she was used to. “Do I want to know?”

“No.” She murmured.

Esme let out a breath as they approached the staircase. The steps were old, the planks wobbly as she took slow steps.

She walked through the dark hallway that she’d painted when they were first married. She’d done it as a surprise for Charles but he’d hated the color.

Esme made her way toward what had once been their bedroom, the place that held her most painful memories. She stood in the treshold just briefly before stepping inside. She kept her head held high.

After years and years of torture, of pain she’d never forget despite the fact that human memories were supposed to fade- Charles was gone but she was not. He’d tried to break her. He’d tried to kill everything inside her but he’d failed. Charles was gone, his body buried carelessly deep in the woods somewhere while she was happy. She was loved, thriving. She’d won.

Esme went to her knees beside what had been her side of the bed. She reached around underneath and then pulled the box she’d secured against the inside of the wooden frame free. She sat back on her legs, running her thumbs through the dust over the lid.

When she lifted her head to look at her husband, she found him standing on the opposite side of the room in front of an old crate, his face a mixture of grief and anger. He was pulling a dress of hers from inside. It was ratty and worn with stains on the skirt- splotches of mud, food, and god knows what else. After she’d been unable get the blood stain out, it became her cleaning dress.

“It still smells like you did as a human.” He murmured. His hands were so gentle with the fabric, treating it with the level tenderness he reserved for her.

Esme got to her feet and crossed the room to him. He set the dress back down and then took the hand she offered him.

“Let’s go home.” She murmured, tugging on his hand.

Carlisle allowed her to lead him by the hand out of her old house. He opened her car door for her, helping her inside before climbing in himself.

The two of them were quiet as Esme sat the photo of Charles’ parents aside and then opened the box she’d taken. She set the lid down and reached in to lift a small pocket watch. She smiled as she turned it over in her hands. “This was my Uncle Martin’s.”

“Your mother’s brother?”

Esme nodded. “He used to tell me that I was his favorite niece to which I would reply that I was his only niece.” She ran her finger over the glass before holding it out to him.

Carlisle studied the watch. “It’s very nice.” He said.

“I want you to keep it.”

“Esme, this was your uncle’s. I can’t take this.”

She reached out to close his fingers around the watch, smiling softly. “My Uncle Martin would have loved you. You’re exactly the type of man he wanted me to marry. He used to tell me to never settle for anything less than true love.”

“Is that why you turned down so many suitors that your parents brought forth?”

“Yes.” She said, lifting her hand from his to reach into the box again. This time, she pulled a tiny ribbon from inside.

“Was that yours?”

“No, it was my friend’s. Her name was Mary. We used to play together every day.”

“Do you know if she’s still alive?”

“She’s not.” Esme said softly, tucking the ribbon back down into the box. “She died when we were seven. An accident on the traintracks.”

“Oh…Esme, I’m so sorry,” Carlisle murmured, his heart breaking for her once again. He could just picture a young Esme heartbroken over losing her friend with parents that refused to nurture her in the way she deserved.

Esme lifted a small bracelet from the box next, something that would only fit a child. “This was my grandmother’s. She gave it to my mother and then my mother gave it to me.”

“It’s beautiful.”

She lowered it back in the box and then replaced the lid on top. She placed it on the seat beside her and then looked at her husband. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming here with me. For being an incredible husband.”

Carlisle tucked the pocket watch into the side of his jacket before taking her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a few kisses against her knuckles. “Don’t thank me. You should have been treated with kindness from the very beginning.”

Esme leaned over to kiss him softly. “I’m going to thank you anyway.”

Carlisle tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Let’s go home, shall we?”


End file.
